


Come and Find Me

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Awkwardness, First Date, First Kiss, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Love at First Sight, M/M, Not sure about the rating yet but probably mature, Twitter, talking about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 07:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11985210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: Two days ago, Sherlock found himself being kissed by a man only known as John during a Pride event, before running away. But Sherlock soon realises that the said John intends to find him again, even it means asking the help of the entire Internet._____John @watsonmd - 1dKissed someone in #London yesterday.Didn’t get his number, butcan’t be many Sherlock’s around, right?Help, anyone?#LondonPride





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [johnwatso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnwatso/gifts), [shail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shail/gifts).



> This fic for xtina, cel and ronnie. It is based on a twitter feed , and it’s going to be a two chapters fic. I have the second one already half-writen, so it won’t take long, I promise.
> 
> Thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for her job as a beta !  
> Enjoy,  
> Pauline.

“That guy keeps looking over here,” Lestrade grins, and Sherlock represses a sigh as he catches the DI staring at something- someone- above his right shoulder.

“You’re looking too in case you haven’t noticed,” he replies, his own eyes scanning the people gathered in the overly crowded pub while desperately trying to fight the urge to turn around.

“Oh trust me,” Lestrade laughs, “I’m not the one he’s staring at.”

Sherlock actually sighs this time, taking another sip of his drink and ignoring the amused smile on Lestrade’s lips. Of course he had noticed the recently invalided home, tanned, limping man who hasn’t stopped glancing at him ever since they entered the pub, but it doesn’t matter that he wants to go over there and let himself deduce all there is to know about him. They are here to catch Miller, prove he’s been targeting gay couples in three different Pride celebrations already, and then he could go home and forget about the glitter, and laughter, and this incomprehensible need to let himself _enjoy_ it.

“Come on,” Lestrade exclaims, and for a moment Sherlock fears he might talk just a little too loudly. “I’ve never seen you with anyone, don’t you miss it?” Sherlock glares at him, hoping it will shut the DI up. “Don’t give me that look, you know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Is it the alcohol that has made you an even more of an idiot?” he asks, knowing perfectly how weak his avoidance of the subject must sound.

“Sherlock, you’re allowed to have this, you know,” Lestrade replies, patting his shoulder as if to comfort him.

“Stop,” Sherlock warns, already prepared to run away from this conversation at the first opportunity.

It’s obvious Miller has escaped them once more, and he’s probably far from here by now. And it’s just because he had been too focused on deducing why he can’t stop shivering every time he feels the staring man’s eyes on his nape. He can’t possibly tell Lestrade that he already has  memorized the exact color of the man’s hair, skin and eyes, or that he hasn’t been able to stop wondering what would happen if he were to just turn around and stare right back. He can’t possibly tell Lestrade that he can’t remember the last time he’s felt so drawn to another person, just with _one_ look, barely four seconds of eye contact, and that it makes both his mind and body ache for _more data_.

“Oh! Looks like he’s coming over here!” Lestrade says, laughing again as he stands up. “I’m gone, good luck!”

“What are you doi-”

Sherlock barely has the time to get to his feet himself when he hears someone clear his throat behind him, “I guess I was that obvious, then.”

Sherlock allows himself a second more to regain some composure before turning around. His eyes find the small, hesitant smile on the man’s lips immediately, and he forces himself to look away just as quickly. He really can’t just _stare_. “It appears so, yes.” He replies, congratulating himself on how neutral he managed to sound.

The man laughs quietly, “I used to be much better at this before.”

Sherlock knows the words are about to spill out before he can do anything about it, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan,” the man replies, most likely by habit, and Sherlock can tell the exact moment he realises what he just said. “Wait, how do you-”

“You were invalidated home a few weeks ago and you haven’t been out of your flat ever since. Someone you can’t say no to dragged you here but you don’t feel at ease. You’d rather still be serving your country, but the shot in your shoulder makes it impossible to go back.” The man is about to say something, but Sherlock cuts him off, not yet ready to face whatever his reaction will be. “Your skin is tanned but not above the wrist, you stand straight despite the cane and can’t glance at it without wincing. Therefore the army, somewhere warm, and sent home because of an injury.” The man is smiling now, and Sherlock tries his best not to stare. “As for your presence here, it’s obvious that you’re not used to attend such huge gathering, and so didn’t chose to come here on your own. You haven’t talked to anyone or even tried to engage a conversation, prior to this one, obviously.”

Sherlock stops, breathing in slowly, and finds himself waiting patiently for whatever is coming next.

“I’m John,” the man says, not at all what Sherlock was expecting after all _that_ , and for some unknown reason, there’s still the same smile on his lips.

“Sherlock,” he replies, not sure what else to say exactly.

“Well, Sherlock,” John breathes, taking a step closer and all of the sudden, Sherlock can’t seem to be able to move anymore. “That was amazing.”

Sherlock swallows with difficulty, dozens of replies on the tip of his tongue but none breaching his lips as John moves even closer, their chests now pressed together and the feeling of his breath warm against Sherlock’s face. He looks down to his lips again, his eyes acting on their own volition apparently, and the noise of the people around them fades away as John’s tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

“Brilliant, I’d say,” John murmurs before closing the remaining distance between them and sealing their lips into a kiss Sherlock had almost began to feel desperate for. Eyes still wide open, he lets John press them just a bit closer, his lips warm and full against his, and Sherlock barely has the time to properly store the feeling away before John is pulling away. “Absolutely brilliant,” he whispers again and Sherlock isn’t sure what he’s talking about anymore, but it doesn’t matter because John is leaning in again and this time Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed as he melts into the touch.

It takes a second to realise he’s now holding on to John’s jacket, or that he’s the one moaning quietly into the kiss, but John doesn’t seem to mind. He’s playing with his lower lip, trapped between his own, and Sherlock shivers at the first contact of his tongue. He exhales loudly through his nose, finding the courage to kiss back despite his lack of experience in the matter, and this time, John is the one to moan as he slides one hand around Sherlock’s neck. This is insane, absolutely mad, but Sherlock can’t stop chasing back John’s lips every time they break apart for air, and soon he finds himself being pushed back against the wall. He silently thanks Lestrade for having chosen a table in the back of the bar, and lets John part his lips so very slowly with his tongue.

All coherent thoughts fall apart after that, and Sherlock holds on tighter to John, trying to pull him ever closer. He had never imagined kissing someone would be like _this,_ a constant rush of need for _more._ And yes, it’s wet and yes, he has absolutely no idea whether he’s doing it right, but John’s tongue is chasing his in the most delicious way, and Sherlock finds himself wishing they could just remain like this for hours. He needs more time to catalogue each wave of, yes, pleasure, and each point of contact between their bodies. He can’t let John pull away anymore, even just to breathe. _This_ , he needs to remember _this_.

“Mates, not in my bar!” Sherlock almost groans in protest when John takes a step backward, holding on tighter to his jacket. “There’s a hotel right across the street.”

Sherlock’s eyes snap back open at the word, and he finds himself staring at an apparently still dazzled John. He estimates his window of escape to be only a few seconds, and takes advantage of them to memorize the lines on John’s face, eyes still closed and his breath short. He wonders for just a moment if he shouldn’t just drag John out of here and let whatever _this_ is grow into something more, but loud shouting from the bar brings him back to reality. He deduces the quickest way out just as John’s eyes begin to flutter open, and without another word, he forces himself to let go and walks out of the pub, not looking back.

*****

*****

*****

It takes another two days before Sherlock has to face the consequences of his mistake. He had barely managed to fool himself these forty-eight hours, lying awake on the sofa and pretending that he was only going through what happened at the pub to figure out when and how their suspect had escaped them. He did not think of the shade of John’s hair, or the feeling of his breath against his cheek, because really, it isn’t helping. He promptly pulls away his fingers each time he began to stroke his lips, and ignored each shiver running down his spine whenever he let himself drift too far into memories of John’s taste.

Then, Lestrade comes running up the stairs, his laughter echoing all the way to the living room and making Sherlock wince in advance.

“Please tell me this is what I think it is,” Lestrade exclaims as soon as he pushes the door open.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock replies, not bothering to look away from his experiment.

“Brilliant,” Lestrade laughs, “This is brilliant.”

He sits next to him, not having even removed his coat, and Sherlock leans back against his chair with a sigh, “What?” Lestrade hands him his phone, a wide grin on his lips. “Can’t you just tell me?”

“Oh no,” Lestrade smiles, “you need to read it for yourself.”

Sherlock sighs again, taking the phone and frowning, “Wha-”

“You do know Twitter, right?” Lestrade asks, barely hiding his excitement.

“Oh course I know what twitter is,” Sherlock replies, “But it still doesn’t explain what I’m looking at.”

Lestrade glances at the phone, “Sorry, scrolled past it. Here it is!”

Sherlock is about to protest again when he realises what Lestrade is showing him, and he has to read the few lines twice.

 

**John @watsonmd - 1d**

_Kissed someone in #London yesterday._

_Didn’t get his number, but_

_can’t be many Sherlock’s around, right?_

_Help, anyone?_

_#LondonPride_

 

Sherlock stares, and stares some more, until Lestrade shakes his shoulder, “So, that’s you right? That John is the man from the pub? Come on, it has to be!”

“You found this?” Sherlock asks, looking up from the screen.

“Donovan found it,” Lestrade replies. “The tweet went viral, everyone’s looking for you apparently!”

Sherlock puts the phone down slowly, inhaling deeply, “Nevermind who this is about. I don’t care.”

Lestrade takes back his phone, shaking his head, “Hell to that! That John is clearly looking for you, don’t you want to see him again?”

“Why would I?” Sherlock replies, getting to his feet and starting to pace around the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Lestrade snorts, “because it clearly doesn’t affect you at all.”

Sherlock stops dead, glaring at him, “If that’s all, you can go.”

“Oh no, that’s not happening,” Lestrade laughs. “Sherlock, I’ve known you for years, and not once have you shown any interest for that sort of thing, and now that you apparently kissed a complete stranger in a pub, you can’t act as if you just don’t care!”

“I do not ca-”

“Oh come on,” Lestrade cuts him off again, throwing both hands in the air. “This John manages to make thousand of people look for you, and you’re just going to ignore it?”

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest only to find the word stuck in his throat.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Lestrade smiles. “If you tell me right now that was just that, a kiss, then I’m out of here. But you gotta be sure!”

“I…” Sherlock begins before clearing his throat. “Even if I care,” he starts again, looking anywhere but into the DI’s eyes, “there’s not much I can do.”

“Are you kidding, I bet that this John must be reading every reply to his tweet hoping one of them is from you!”

Sherlock sits back next to him, glancing at Lestrade’s phone, “Are you saying I should reply, then?” Lestrade looks confused for a moment, and Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Yes, I’m asking for your advice.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Lestrade apologizes quickly, clearing his throat before saying, “Do you have an account in the first place? Twitter, I mean.”

“Obviously not.”

“Well, we just need to create one and then, you reply to him.” Another laugh escapes him, and Sherlock is fairly sure he’s laughing at him this time. “You know what, let me do this.”

Sherlock watches silently as Lestrade’s fingers begin to type on his phone quickly. He stares and can’t help but recite the words he already knows by heart in his head. John, after just one kiss, had been looking for him all over the Internet, trying to find him again. It could only mean he had liked the kiss just as much, that maybe he hadn’t been able to think about anything else since, and for a moment, Sherlock feels better about it all. It can only mean it’ll be alright, that John has done this before and he’ll know what to do next, he could guide him, guide them both and there’s a chance Sherlock could pretend he knows what he’s doing too.

“I’ll just use your full name for the account,” Lestrade says absently, more to himself than to him but Sherlock can’t help but start worrying anyway. “Christ, don’t look at me like that. I can stop, you know.”

“No,” Sherlock replies too quickly, and he shifts on his chair to regain some composure. “Continue.”

“Sure?” Lestrade asks, raising an eyebrow, and Sherlock nods sharply. “Alright.”

He falls silent again, and Sherlock resists the urge to go light a cigarette. Is this what people can’t shut up about, this sentiment of both excitement and panic at the prospect of what’s to come?

“Ok,” Lestrade finally says, looking back at him. “What do you want to reply?”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

Lestrade’s smile widens, “I don’t know, you’re the one who kissed him.”

Sherlock glares at him but it only makes Lestrade smile even more, “You want to see him again, yeah? That’s what this is all about?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replies, hating how he can feel himself blush, but Lestrade doesn’t comment on it.

“Then why not make it obvious, then?”

Sherlock nods, licking his lips before asking, “And how am I supposed to do that?”

Lestrade just looks at him for a long moment, something close to pride or softness passing through his eyes, but Sherlock choses to ignore it for the moment. “This John is looking for you, just write something to let him know he found you.”

Sherlock considers the DI’s words for a second, his mind blank and his heart beating just a little too fast. He looks down at the phone, still in Lestrade’s hand, and finds himself thinking about John. Is he staring at his own phone, waiting for him to reply? Lestrade starts to type, making him jump, “What are you doing?”

“Typing,” Lestrade teases before passing him the phone.

“You’ll never find me,” he reads out loud before frowning. “That’s stupid, he obviously found me.”

“That was supposed to sound, I don’t know, cute,” Lestrade sighs. “You tell me, then, what should I write?”

Sherlock breathes out deeply before making up his mind, “Were you also better at this before?”

“Better at what?” Lestrade frowns, apparently not getting it at all, and Sherlock sighs.

“That’s what you write,” he explains. “John will understand.”

“If you say so,” Lestrade replies, typing quickly before setting his phone back on the table. “Now, we wait.”

Sherlock stares at the phone, teeth nipping at his lower lips, “Why didn’t you just use my phone?”

“Oh there’s no way I’m missing out on this,” Lestrade replies, winking, and Sherlock rolls his eyes again. He can tell the exact moment the DI is about to go all emotional, and he braces himself for it with quiet sigh. “This could be really good for you, Sherlock.”

“I fail to see why,” Sherlock replies, eyes still fixed on the phone.

“You’ve changed a lot since that last rehab,” Lestrade continues anyway. “And despite what everyone else thinks, I know you care about people. You deserve to know what it’s like to have someone who cares for you in their own special way.”

“If you’re going to continue talking, you can just leave,” Sherlock says, already starting to think John is taking far too long to reply.

“And to think it all happened thanks to me,” Lestrade laughs, earning himself another glare, just as his phone chimes.

Sherlock is faster and he types Lestrade’s code quickly, not caring that he had cracked it long ago.

 

**John @watsonmd - 5s**

in reply to @wssholmes

_This? Not at all._

_I’m sure you can find me_

_now. I’ll be waiting._

 

“What does he mean you can find him now?” Lestrade asks, and Sherlock realises he’s now standing next to him.

“I have his full name,” Sherlock replies, already going back to the deduction he made about John at the pub. It only takes a second before he makes the first connection, and he takes out his own phone quickly. “He went to med school before enrolling, and the best school in London for that is Bart’s.” Lestrade hums next to him, watching him work it out in silence just like he’s done so many times on crime scenes. “Now, there’s one person I know who studied medicine at Bart’s and fit John’s age, so I only need to find the class register and right year, and see if there’s a John Wats- There, found him.”

“That was fast,” Lestrade says, the smile obvious in his voice, and Sherlock finds he can’t help but smile either. “Molly is a bit young to have studi-”

“Not Molly, obviously,” Sherlock cuts him. “Stamford.”

“Stamford?” Lestrade asks, but Sherlock is already getting to his feet and grabbing his coat.

“I’m sure you’ll find the way out,” Sherlock says, Lestrade grinning at him again. “Don’t bother locking the door.”

“You can thank me later,” he hears Lestrade say as he descends the stairs two by two, quickly followed by another laugh.

It only takes Sherlock fifteen minutes to get to Bart’s, which he spent not thinking about how his next actions might upset his world entirely. He made up his mind the moment he chose to reply to John’s message, and he can’t possibly back up now. It doesn’t matter that he has no idea what he’s supposed to do, or that relationships had always seemed too messy to even consider it. John Watson had kissed him two days ago, and Sherlock wants nothing more but have him pressed against him once more.

He manages to find Stamford in the third empty classroom he opens the door to, “I need John’s number,” he announces immediately, and Stamford frowns at him.

“You know John?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock sighs. “Now, the number?”

Another ten seconds pass before Stamford digs into his pocket for his phone, keeping his questions to himself and Sherlock silently thanks him. He always liked this about Stamford, his ability to stop talking when he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. Barely two minutes after pushing the door open, Sherlock leaves with John’s number in his phone and his head spinning just a little. He waits until he’s outside to inhale deeply, his fingers still closed around his phone. He stares down at it, heart pounding as he unlocks it and opens a new message.

In the end, it only takes a second to type his text and hit send,

**sent / 17:56**

Found you. SH

 

He doesn’t hesitate to light a cigarette this time, and he blows the smoke slowly, apparently unable to look away from his phone. It doesn’t stop him from jumping in surprise when it chimes, twice,  and he almost drops it as he hurries to read John’s answer.

**received / 17:58**

Didn’t doubt you would.

I wasn’t sure I’d find you again

after you left the pub.

**received / 17:58**

I’m glad you did. And it

might seem too eager but

at this point I don’t care

anymore, but are you

free tonight?

 

Something close to a giggle escapes Sherlock’s lips and he quickly looks around to make sure no one’s heard. His phone chimes again before he can answer,

**received / 17:59**

If that’s alright with you

of course. Christ, I promise

I was good at this once.

 

This time Sherlock doesn’t care if he’s grinning like most of these idiots he encountered before as he finally types his reply,

**sent / 18:00**

Angelo’s. 46 Broadwick

Street Westminster.

9pm? SH

**received / 18:00**

I’ll be there.

**received / 18:00**

I’m really glad you

found me, Sherlock.

 

Sherlock stares, and stares some more at John’s last text, and after another second, he allows himself to start panicking.


	2. Chapter 2

At exactly 8:51pm, Sherlock finds himself stopping dead on his way to Angelo’s. John is right there, his back turned to him, but Sherlock can’t seem to be able to move anymore. It will only take a minute before John will notice him, and then Sherlock won’t have any other option than go through with this date. Because this is A Date. And he has absolutely no idea what John is expecting from this evening. Sherlock feels as if he’s about to either explode or run away. He watches, barely breathing as John begins to turn, waiting with a knot in his chest in preparation of the moment he’ll notice him standing there. But of all the thoughts that had crossed his mind, Sherock had never imagined that John would blush from neck to cheek and tentatively wave at him.

“Hi,” he calls before clearing his throat, and Sherlock realises he can’t just remain frozen there.

He closes the few steps still separating them and stops in front of John, his own throat suddenly dry. “You’re early,” he finds himself replying for some unknown reason.

“Yeah,” John replies, rubbing a hand over his nape. “Didn’t want to miss you.”

Sherlock nods, already out of ideas of what to do or say, but John is breathing out deeply before smiling, “Should we go in?”

Another nod and they’re heading in, John following him inside without a word. Angelo, of course, greets him with a warm laugh and leads them both to Sherlock’s table. There’s already a candle on the table, and Sherlock pretends not to notice it despite the two of them knowing perfectly well what this dinner truly is. John places his cane against the wall behind him and waits until Angelo leaves before saying, “I should start by apologizing.”

“Apologizing?” Sherlock frowns, already thinking John is going to say this was a mistake from the beginning and that he should leave now.

“Yes, for what happened in the pub,” John replies, and Sherlock hopes he doesn’t notice his sigh of relief. “I had no right to kiss you like that. I don’t know what came over me but I acted before thinking about it first, and I only realised later on that I hadn’t even asked if it was ok before kissing you. I’ve never done this bef-”

“John,” Sherlock cuts him off with a smile. “It was ok.”

John looks at him for a long moment before smiling back. “Sorry. I’ve been feeling like a bloody teenager ever since, and I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”

Sherlock doesn’t tell him he has no idea what feeling like a teenager is supposed to mean, and forces himself to look away from John’s lips as he says, “You were the first one to react like that to one of my deductions.”

“I won’t lie, I’m glad I am,” John laughs, fingers playing with his fork. “What do people usually do?”

“They tell me to piss off,” Sherlock replies honestly. “Some try to punch me.”

John laughs again, and Sherlock makes sure to catalogue the sound quickly. “Some people can’t handle a bit of truth, apparently.”

“It doesn’t help that I mostly use my deduction skills to catch thieves and criminals,” Sherlock smiles.

“I knew you’d have to be using that skill in your work,” John exclaims. “So, you’re a cop?”

“No,” Sherlock corrects him quickly. “I’m a consulting detective, only one in the world. Whenever the Yard need help, they call me, which is often, as you can expect.”

“You must never be bored,” John says, still smiling, and Sherlock can’t help but wonder if he can manage to make him smile for the entire date.

“Some criminals clearly lack originality,” he replies, his own lips curling into a smile. “So boredom is inevitable I fear.”

“Especially with a mind like yours,” John adds.

Sherlock is certain he’s blushing again, and he pretends to be searching for Angelo to look away from John. He needs to regain some posture or else this is going to end with John laughing in his face, or even worse, realising just how lost he feels.

“I should say now,” John continues, sounding almost shy, and Sherlock glances back toward him only to find him staring down at his hands. “You were right back there when you deduced me. I’m not used to attending Pride or such events, but my sister dragged me there and of course she disappeared as soon as we arrived.” A nervous laugh escapes him. “I have no idea what happened, but all of a sudden you were right there and you were so… well, beautiful.”

Sherlock watches mesmerised as John’s cheeks redden, and they’re both avoiding each other eyes as Sherlock can only confess, “I noticed you the moment I walked in.”

John looks back up at him, smiling again. “You certainly didn’t let it show. I was certain you were going to tell me to bugger off.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, not exactly sure how he could explain what went through his head at the time. John stares right back at him, and for a long moment, they don’t say a word. Sherlock wonders if this is how dates work; feeling helpless and on the edge of either combusting or running away. Inhaling deeply, he allows himself to let his guard down once and for all: “I didn’t.”

“You didn’t,” John smiles, a bit brighter this time, and really, Sherlock can’t do anything else but stare. “It’s not fair, you now. You deduced in an instant why I was at this pub, but I still don’t know why you were there.”

“I was chasing a suspect,” Sherlock replies, already feeling more at ease with the change of subject.

“Is it confidential or…” John asks, shifting closer on the bench and Sherlock does his best to pretend he hasn’t noticed. “I mean, you must have to follow some rul-”

“No,” Sherlock cuts him off, rolling his eyes. “Lestrade probably wishes I did, but most of the time, rules are boring.”

“Most of the time?” John asks, raising one eyebrow.

“You’re right,” Sherlock grins. “All the time.”

John laughs, tongue darting out to wet his lips and Sherlock averts his eyes quickly. He thanks Angelo silently when he shows up and they both give their order quickly, earning themselves a wink before he leaves. John is fidgeting with his fork again, opening his mouth a few times but not a single sound coming out and for the first time since they got in, Sherlock realises he’s not the only one with no idea what he’s doing.

“Who’s Lestrade?” John finally says, looking back at him.

“The DI you saw at the pub,” Sherlock explains, remembering just how Lestrade had made sure he couldn’t escape John back there.

“Oh,” John breathes, eyes dropping lower and Sherlock resists the urge to lick his lips. “You were helping him?”

“The suspect managed to escape us, but a new lead came up this morning and the Yard got him.”

John is about to reply when Angelo comes with their order, and he waits until he’s gone before finally asking, “You didn’t help?”

“I found where the suspect was hiding but it was barely a four in the end, so I let Lestrade take care of the arrest,” Sherlock sighs. “Saved me the paperwork.”

“A four?” John asks with a small laugh, starting to eat and Sherlock forces himself to pick at his own food as he replies.

“That’s how I rate my cases, from zero to ten.”

“Already solved a ten?”

“Serial killer,” Sherlock replies, remembering the thrill of a good chase. “They’re the best. Caught two already, but they tend to be rare.”

John stares at him for a long moment and Sherlock realises what he just said must sound like. Here he is, vocally wishing there were more serial killers to catch. Exactly the sort of behavior that makes every officer at the Yard hate him. He looks down at his plate, trying to find a way to fix it before John can find an excuse to leave, but another laugh makes him look up.

“Maybe they’re just afraid of you,” John smiles. “You must have quite a reputation, no?”

“You can say that, yes,” Sherlock replies, looking away again. He really can’t tell him about the  _ freaks _ and  _ sociopaths  _ or  _ wankers _ , surely it isn’t what you’re supposed to talk about to your date. He catches John nodding slowly, not saying anything, and silence falls upon them. Sherlock allows himself to close his eyes briefly, going through everything he ever read or heard about relationships but finds nothing to say that could change the subject without being so  _ obvious _ . He sighs, busying himself with eating instead while trying to ignore just how easily a silence can turn awkward, but then John’s laughter is filling the air again and Sherlock’s eyes snap back to him. “What?”

John represses another laugh before shaking his head, “Sorry, it’s just that… well, you’ve got some sauce on your chin.”

Sherlock remains still for a long moment, feeling like he could burst out laughing too any second and having no idea why, because, really, it’s only sauce. But John’s smile is reaching his eyes, and Sherlock can’t remember the last time he saw anyone so mesmerising, and he lets out a small laugh. That’s all it takes for John to join him, and they end up laughing over misplaced sauce or maybe something else entirely, Sherlock isn’t sure anymore and he finds that he doesn’t care. John is laughing, because of him, with him, and there isn’t a chance he’s ever going to delete such a moment.

“I told you,” John says after a while. “I was better at all this before. I can’t remember the last time I went on a proper date, actually.”

Sherlock’s finger tightens around his fork, feeling his breath catch as confesses, “I wouldn’t know, dates had never been… interesting before.”

John’s laughter dies off. “Oh,” he breathes, and Sherlock leaves him to his own deductions. It’s only fair that John knows what to expect and, for a moment, Sherlock wonders if he should warn him about, well, everything else. “If you ask me,” John finally says, forcing Sherlock to look back at him. “I think you’re doing just fine.” He smiles, and Sherlock can’t seem to be able to breathe anymore. “More than fine, actually.”

The urge to kiss John overwhelms him again, and John’s breath catches when he looks down at his lips once more. They stare at each other for what could be hours, and when John’s finger slowly reaches out to wipe the sauce off his chin, Sherlock feels something very warm spread low in his body. The sensation builds even more the moment John licks his finger clean, and they’re both breathing heavily by the time Angelo interrupts them.

“Everything alright over here?”

Sherlock doesn’t look away from him as John replies, “Perfect. We’ll be going now, can we have the bill?”

“No, no, no,” Angelo says immediately. “It’s on the house, don’t worry about that.”

Sherlock is still staring when John stands up and before he can understand what is truly happening, they find themselves out and alone again. Loud cheering on the other side of the road make them both jump in surprise, and John clears his throat before saying, “You live far from here?” Sherlock shakes his head, not certain he can trust his voice right now. “I could walk you home, if you want.”

Sherlock catches the slight doubt in John’s voice, and he hurriedly smiles, nodding in agreement.

John laughs quietly, closing his coat more firmly around him before asking, “Which way?”

Sherlock forces himself to regain some control over his own body, and replies quickly, “Over there. Baker Street.”

John nods and they both start walking slowly. At this pace, Sherlock expects to arrive him in forty-four minutes, but he couldn’t care less. John is standing close, so very close that each brush of their fingers makes Sherlock shiver from head to toe and he almost considers taking the longer route back home.

“I feel like I’ve been apologising all evening,” John says after a moment, “but just one more time, I promise.” He glances at him, and Sherlock waits patiently. “I realise now that even if it meant you found me, this whole twitter business was maybe a bit too much. Harry convinced me to do it after I couldn’t stop talking about what happened; she’s actually the one who came up with what to say.”

“Lestrade was the one to see your message and to convince me I should reply, so I’d say we’re even,” Sherlock replies, shifting closer to let someone pass in front of them, and if John notices he doesn’t really put the same distance back between them again and doesn’t say anything about it.

“You didn’t want to reply at first?” John asks, looking up at him.

“I…” Sherlock begins before breathing out deeply. “I think it’s fairly obvious that I have no experience in all this,” he says, waving between them, and John nods silently. “After you kissed me, I told myself I could just forget about it but, as you can see, I was wrong.”

“Can’t say I’m not glad you were,” John says, almost grinning now, and Sherlock doesn’t dare look away.

“John, I feel I should warn you about some habits of mi-”

“Don’t,” John cuts him off. “No matter what those habits are, I’d like to discover them myself, if that’s alright with you.”

Warmth, again, taking all the place inside Sherlock’s chest, “Yes. More than alright.”

John’s smile widens, and the next brush of their hands lasts a moment longer than before, and they both promptly look away when it becomes more and more difficult not to just stop and give into the need for  _ more _ .

“You can deduce anyone, right?” John asks, and Sherlock thanks him silently for the change of subject, and he nods. “What about the people here?”

Sherlock takes a quick look around them. “You want me to deduce them?”

“Yes,” John says, laugh lines around his eyes and the remainder of a blush on his cheeks. “Too much of a challenge?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, earning another small laugh from John, and he begins with the men walking on the opposite side of the pavement trying to hide the fact that he loves wearing women’s underwear. He breathes in every  _ amazing _ and  _ this is brilliant _ all the way to Baker Street, each minute stretching into small eternities and every contact of their hands holding the promise of more. They’re both laughing when they reach 221B, and John is now leaning into him with every step and Sherlock almost wishes they could just walk past the door and pretend not to notice it. But John is already stopping, eyeing the numbers on the door and letting out a sigh as he says, “I had a very good time tonight.”

“I never expected dates to be like this,” Sherlock replies honestly, already suspecting it had everything to do with who he just had a date with.

“Maybe we could do this again sometime,” John smiles, sounding nervous all of a sudden.

“Yes,” Sherlock replies.

The smile John gives him makes his heart miss a beat. “I’ll call you?” Sherlock nods before frowning when John takes a step backward. “Goodnight, then.”

“Wait,” Sherlock calls as John begins to turn away, but the moment he’s looking at him again, Sherlock loses his nerve.

“Yes?” John asks, and with just a small curl of his lips, Sherlock realises he’s letting him decide, has been doing so since they met in front of Angelo’s really.

“All the researched I’ve conduct said that most good dates end with a kiss,” Sherlock says, not exactly certain where this new courage came from. “And you said it yourself, you had a very good time.”

John moves closer, his voice barely a whisper, “But did you?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock breathes, already too focused on John’s lips to care about anything else.

John takes one last step toward him, his answer being breathed directly against Sherlock’s lips. “Then we can’t prove your research wrong, can we?”

Sherlock barely has the force to shake his head before John’s lips are being pressed against his now, and then he forgets about all the rest. He closes his eyes this time, already feeling the same need for more take over him, and he lets both of his hands close around John’s coat. He moans softly when he feels John’s fingers threading through his hair, adding more pressure to the kiss, and he doesn’t hesitate to part his lips, already desperate for more. John’s taste is just the same as in his memories, and he only pulls away when he realises he’s about to make a fool of himself in the middle of the street.

John is panting against his lips, eyes still closed and Sherlock doesn’t move this time. He looks at him, already wondering just how exactly he was supposed to let him go. Brushing their lips softly together again, he breathes, “You don’t have your cane anymore.” He feels John tense, most likely awaiting the sudden pain in his leg, but Sherlock kisses him once more. “You don’t need it, never did.” John breathes out deeply between more kisses, hands slightly shaking against Sherlock’s nape. “You’ve got me.”

John pulls away just enough to look at him, eyes smiling, “You are truly incredible, you know that?” Sherlock closes his eyes, not caring about blushing anymore. “You’re breathtaking, Sherlock Holmes, and anyone would think this is completely insane but I don’t bloody care.” Sherlock forces himself to look back at him, heart pounding. “I have no idea why I can’t seem to be able to move, or even want to move right now, but I really, really don’t mind.”

“Then don’t leave,” Sherlock breathes, holding on tighter.

“Are you inviting me up for coffee?” John smiles, eyes bright and eager.

“I’m sure I can find some upstairs,” he replies, coffee not having crossed his mind at all, “if you want one.”

John laughs, the sound filling the air, and it only takes a second before Sherlock leans in to catch it between his lips. “I’d love to come up,” he says, keeping Sherlock close. “You haven’t told me about any of the cases you solved after all.”

Sherlock closes his eyes, breathing the moment in, and seeking John’s lips again, already wondering if there is any way to keep him close and warm and smiling permanently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing feedbacks on this story, I truly enjoyed writing it!  
> And just so you know, I could be convinced to write a chapter 3 and earn that M rating ;)
> 
> Love,  
> Pauline.


	3. bonus chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I am with the bonus chapter, and the Mature rating. It didn't felt right to write something very explicit, and I hope you'll like this bonus chapter just as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Oh and surprise, for this final chapter, we're switching to John's pov!
> 
> Enjoy,  
> Pauline.

(reminder: we're switching POV with this chapter)

 

John forces himself to breathe out slowly as Sherlock finally succeeds in opening the front door. 

He’s still not sure how he managed to get so lucky. If following Harry to Pride had been the last thing he had wanted at the time, he now knows he won’t ever be able to find an appropriate way to thank her. Kissing a complete (amazing, breathtaking) stranger had felt like being alive again, after weeks staying locked in this small, cold flat, and if he had been certain it was going to remain just  _ that _ , here he was now about to follow Sherlock to his flat.

Repressing a smile, John holds on tighter to the hand Sherlock had insisted he didn’t need to open the door. He lets his eyes flutter closed for a second, focusing on the memory of Sherlock’s lips against his own not a minute ago, and finding that he’d rather like to be kissing him again right now than waiting for a bloody door to open.

“It just won’t-” Sherlock mutters under his breath, and John represses a laugh as he steps closer without pressing himself too much against him. “There!”

John allows himself to breathe out deeply one last time before returning the small victory smile Sherlock casts him before leading them both inside. Silence welcomes them in, and for a moment, only the sound of their breathing echoes in the hall. With his back turned to him, Sherlock begins to walk to the stairs, but John stops him before he can climb the first step.

“Wait.”

Sherlock lets go of his hand immediately, his entire body tensing as he turns to face him, “You’ve changed your mind.”

“No,” John replies, shaking his head with a smile. “But I want to make sure you know that you can still change yours.”

“Why would I?” Sherlock frowns.

“Because you confessed just a few hours ago that this is brand new to you,” John replies, finding that he really liked the sight of Sherlock’s flushed cheeks. “And I now realise I might have been pushing too far with this whole coffee thing.”

Sherlock’s frown deepens, “I told you, there must be some in the kitchen or I can just borrow Mrs Hud-”

“Sherlock,” John cuts him off, taking a step closer. “I don’t want coffee, and I can’t walk up those stairs without warning you that coming up for a drink after a date usually means… sex.”

If Sherlock was blushing before, John isn’t sure what to call his reaction now. He forces himself not to move, waiting for any sign telling him he needs to go now before overwhelming Sherlock too much.

“That’s…” Sherlock begins, clearing his throat as he looks away. “That’s not an issue.”

John swallows back a laugh, searching for the right words for a long moment, “But you know it can be, an issue I mean.”

“I know,” Sherlock replies, almost defensively.

“I’m sorry,” John laughs this time, feeling more and more stupid about the entire matter. “I just thought you should know that I’m not asking for-”

“John, you’re rambling.” Sherlock declares, turning back toward the stairs, “Can we go up now?”

John hovers at the bottom of the stairs for a minute, considering saying they can talk about it another time and leave now, but would Sherlock understand? This man he had just spent a brilliant evening with might be oh so clever, John is starting to think he might also be entirely clueless about many things.

“John?”

“I’m coming,” John says quickly, offering Sherlock his most reassuring smile. Sherlock nods, and John’s eyes fall to his hand, open in an inviting gesture that could either be ignored or accepted. “Lead the way,” he smiles, lacing his fingers back with Sherlock’s and not saying another word as they climb the few steps to the flat. If John had been expecting anything about the place someone like Sherlock would live, he can say without doubt that it wasn’t this.

“What is it?” Sherlock asks almost as soon as they’re inside, and John can’t help but smile.

“Nothing,” he replies, squeezing Sherlock’s hand. “It’s just… cosy.”

Sherlock looks around them, as if he was discovering his flat for the first time, “Is it?”

“Yes,” John nods, but keeps to himself that it’s probably because every piece of furniture or sheet of paper on the floor somehow reminds him of Sherlock himself. “I like it.”

Sherlock looks at him for a long second, “Thank you.”

John licks his lips, suddenly very much aware of how close they are standing and that he can still remember the exact taste of Sherlock’s tongue against his own just minutes ago. Clearing his throat, John promptly looks away. He can’t kiss Sherlock again when he just told him he didn’t want this  _ come up for a drink _ invitation to be anything else than just that.

“So,” he forces himself to say without having anything else to add, and he glances at Sherlock only to find him frowning even more than before. They stare at each other for a long moment, still holding hands and yet John can’t remember feeling so lost. He opens his mouth a few times, words forming in his throat without ever breaching his lips, and he finally gives up with a loud sigh, “I’ve made it awkward.”

“I wouldn’t say awkward,” Sherlock replies, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I did,” John says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I don’t even know why I brought up sex. Clearly you weren’t thinking about it, and I don’t even want to have sex with-”

“Oh,” Sherlock cuts in. “Right.”

“No, no, no,” John replies, panicking as Sherlock lets go of his hand and walks to the window. “I didn’t meant it that w- I just- Fuck.” Sherlock remains perfectly still, back turned to him, and John wishes he could just slap himself and get it together. “Sherlock, I-”

“You were right.”

John breathes in deeply, “Right?”

“I didn’t even think about it,” Sherlock replies. “Sex.”

John searches for something to say, but doesn’t find anything.

“When you kissed me that first time, I felt something. Down my abdomen, something warm and unexpected, but I didn’t think about any of it. Just another side effect I couldn’t understand.” John realises he’s holding his breath as Sherlock turns to face him again. “Then you wiped that sauce off my chin, and there it was again, this warmth spreading throughout my entire body, and it caught me off guard once more.”

John’s eyes flutter closed, the moment of the look Sherlock gave him during diner making it hard to focus.

“And then again, when you kissed me,” Sherlock continues, and John doesn't need to open his eyes to know he’s taken a step closer. “I had to make sure you wouldn’t go, that you would agree to stay and come up with me.”

“I didn’t want to go,” John confesses, looking back at him.

Sherlock breathes out deeply, walking closer and stopping just a few centimeters away. “I think I understand now.”

“Yeah?” John replies, licking his lips again and not missing the way Sherlock’s eyes follow the movement slowly.

Sherlock nods, not saying a word.

“I was serious when I said I didn’t mean to bring it up,” John whispers, suddenly afraid to break the atmosphere settling around them. “I’ve had dates that were just about sex, and this is far from it.” Sherlock’s eyes search his for a long moment, and John lets him read there whatever he needs to find. “You are breathtakingly beautiful, Sherlock, and I’d be lying if I said I don’t want you, but I want so much more than that too.”

“You barely know me,” Sherlock replies in a murmur, pressing them closer and John isn’t sure he’s aware he’s doing so.

“I know enough,” he replies, breath catching. “I know that I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, I know that you somehow just cured me of my limp, I know that I haven’t felt this alive in a long time.”

Sherlock’s breath is now warm against his lips, and John isn’t sure he can focus long enough to say anything else at this point. He does his best to hold Sherlock’s studying eyes, and lets the feeling that had been developing all evening show as best as he can.

“You are a mystery, John Watson,” Sherlock finally breathes out, and John barely has the time to reply before he’s being kissed.

His body reacts first, pulling Sherlock more firmly against him and titling his head to the side so that he can deepen the kiss. Sherlock parts his lips immediately, a soft, longing moan echoing in the living room and John is walking him back toward the window without breaking them apart. Sherlock’s hands are already around his head when his back hits the window, and John forces himself to pull away for air. Panting against each other’s mouths, John tries to collect himself but then Sherlock’s lips are against his jaw, kissing so very softly, almost shyly, and there’s nothing John can’t do but give in. He slides one hand up Sherlock’s arm, shoulder, neck and finally hair, silently bringing their mouths back together.

It’s only when Sherlock pushes himself harder against him that John realises the state they’re both in. He’s the one to moan this time, already feeling desperate for more, but he manages to pull away just enough to rest their foreheads together, “Sherlock, I-”

“You said you wanted me,” Sherlock pants, rolling his hips ever so lightly.

John bites back another moan, tongue darting out to lick his lips, “I do, trust me I do, but I thought we’re just established that tonight meant more than just… that.”

Sherlock shakes his head, kissing him again and pressing their bodies even closer together. “Why can’t it be both?”

John throws his head back, breathing in deeply and trying to regain some composure, “Both?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, both hands forcing John to look back at him. “Tonight is about more than just sex,” he continues, blushing but not looking away this time. “But I think it’s fairly obvious that I want you just as much.”

John watches in awe as Sherlock’s cheeks manage to get even redder, “You’re making it harder with all the blushing, you know.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, making John chuckle softly, before saying, “Think about it this way,” he says, sounding all too serious now. “If we go sit on the sofa right now and you ask about the cases I’ve solved, will it make it go away?”

“You mean, the sexual tension?” John asks, throat suddenly dry. Sherlock nods, not saying a word and yet his silence telling all there is to say. “In complete honesty, I don’t think so, no.” he laughs at the look of victory on Sherlock’s face. “But still, there is another way to deal with this. I could just go home and-”

“No,” Sherlock stops him.

John smiles, resisting the urge to kiss him again. “Then you could go to your bathroom and take care of…” he looks down between them, “this before coming back.”

Sherlock seems to consider the option for a moment, and John realises there isn’t a chance he could stand here knowing Sherlock is getting himself off in the next room.

“Can’t we…” Sherlock begins before blushing even more. “Isn’t there a way to do this together?”

John has to close his eyes to stop himself from saying too much, and with another deep breath, he whispers, “Are you certain about this?”

Sherlock remains silent for a long moment, and when John looks back at him, he’s faced with a bright, trusting smile that makes his heart miss a beat, “I have no idea what I’m doing, John, but just like you seemed to know what you want from me, I know that this is what I want right now.”

John lets the hand still in Sherlock’s curls slide down to his cheek, stroking it slowly, “But what about after? This could be just your body’s reaction to mine, and the last thing I want is for you to regret it afterward.” He stops Sherlock from cutting him off again with a quick kiss. “I can wait, I really can.”

Sherlock sighs deeply against his lips, “I can’t.”

John is about to reply when Sherlock kisses him again, and when it had been hungry and desperate before, the softness of this kiss makes all of John shiver. He gives in easily, letting Sherlock take control, and once again he finds himself thinking that for a man who has never done this before, Sherlock Holmes is quite amazing at this.

“You’re smiling,” Sherlock says into the kiss, his own lips curled into a smile.

“I know,” John replies, seeking another kiss, and Sherlock obliges him quickly.

They remain this way for a long moment, their arousal growing between them but neither of them doing anything about it yet. John wonders if he should ask again, if he should make sure one last time that Sherlock is aware of what they’re about to do means, but a sharp, uncontrolled thrust of Sherlock’s hips against his own makes him realise there isn’t much he can do now to change his mind.

“John,” Sherlock pants, pulling away for air.

“Yes, alright,” John says, trying to control his pounding heart. “There’s something we can try, we won’t even have to remove our clothes.”

Sherlock’s eyes widens, “Wouldn’t that be… inconvenient afterward?”

John represses a laugh at the confusion on Sherlock’s face, and he kisses him softly, “We’ll deal with that later.”

Sherlock studies him for a moment before nodding, the promise of what’s about to happen making it hard to move now, and John slowly takes Sherlock’s hand before pulling him away from the window, “All right?”

Sherlock nods, having fallen silent now, and John slowly walks them toward the sofa. Better than asking for the way to Sherlock’s bed, at least here they’ll remain in control. “Do you prefer to lie down first or should I?”

Sherlock glances from the sofa to him a few times before saying, “I don’t know.”

John considers the option a second, “What don’t you lie on top of me, that way you can pull away if it’s too much.”

Sherlock falls back silent as John lies down, waiting patiently until Sherlock rearranges himself on top of him. They stare at each other for what could be an eternity, and when John tentatively pulls Sherlock’s head for a kiss, he feels him tense just a little. He tries to make it go away with several tender kisses, but Sherlock’s eyes are shut tightly when he lets go, “What is it?”

Sherlock sighs deeply before saying, “I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel… I don’t know.”

John nods, smiling up at him, “We can stop.”

Sherlock shakes his head, “That’s not it. Can we try the other way?”

It only takes a bit of manoeuvring before Sherlock is the one lying beneath him, and John doesn’t have to ask if this is better when he feels Sherlock’s entire body relax under his. He smiles, leaning down for another kiss, and this time Sherlock gives in entirely. Comfort over control, John thinks as he feels one of Sherlock’s hands slide up and down his back. The exchange not having affected either of their arousal, John lowers himself just enough to brush their trapped erections together.

Sherlock’s reaction is immediate, moaning loudly as he throws his head back, and John can only stare down in wonder at him. He rolls his hips once more, feeling thrills of pleasure running down his spine, and the hand on his back now holding tightly to his shirt. Any doubts of being able to come with just some frottage fades away quickly, each and every moan and shiver from Sherlock making him harder.

“John,” Sherlock whimpers with another thrust of their hips.

John reaches for his leg, pulling it up until he can lock them together better, now perfectly feeling the outline of Sherlock's erection against his own. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

“John, I…” Sherlock begins before being cut off by another moan, starting to thrust up against John.

“Yeah?”

“I want…” Sherlock tries again but apparently chooses to kiss him instead, and John happily lets him. His own moans get swallowed when Sherlock’s hands end up on his arse, adding more pressure to their rocking bodies, and he threads his own fingers into Sherlock’s curls. “This.”

John finds himself laughing into the next kiss, pleasure building with every thrust, and soon he can feel Sherlock starting to shake under him. He makes sure to keep them as close as possible, rocking faster, harder, and losing himself in the middle. Sherlock’s orgasm takes them both by surprise, and he can only stare down at Sherlock’s face lost in pleasure as he cries out his name.

“Oh fuck,” John pants, having a hard time controlling his thrusts now, and it only takes three, four more before he’s coming too, feeling like a bloody teenager and thinking it can never get  _ better _ than this. “Fuck, Sherlock.”

Time freezes, or maybe speeds up, John can’t be certain of anything else but the warmth radiating from Sherlock’s body beneath his. It takes him longer than it should to realise Sherlock is still trembling, and with his every sense on alert, he pulls away to look down at him, “Sherlock, are you alright?” Sherlock nods quickly, eyes closed and breathing short. John strokes his cheeks softly, “You can tell me if that wasn’t… what you expected.”

“It wasn’t,” Sherlock breathes out, eyes fluttering open, and John’s heart sinks. “Don’t,” Sherlock says immediately, probably reading it all on his face. “It wasn’t what I expected, it was much… better.”

John lets out a small laugh after another second or two, finding it hard not to lean down and kiss him again, “Better?”

“Yes,” Sherlock murmurs, blushing again but apparently not caring about it anymore. “Better.”

The urge to kiss those tempting lips taking over again, John gives in, and they both wait for the shaking to stop with long, smiling kisses. And when Sherlock declares, long minutes later and with a sharp comment about the stickiness, that next time they’re definitely taking their trousers and underwear off, John doesn’t even think of arguing about it.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ [ggaypilot](http://ggaypilot.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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